Disarm Me with Your Loneliness
by HellHoundess
Summary: How Negaduck came to adopt a mischevous protege, and their adventures thereafter. A multi-chapter fic I'm still working on. Should be lots of fun, emotion, and adventure!


**Disarm Me with Your Loneliness**

**By Hellhoundess**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**Dedicated to Joy and Rachel, two very good friends who pushed me to keep my characters alive and to always strive to better my writing. Hopefully this version of my first DWD fic, "Bright Eyes" holds truer to the characters and to the strong emotions it's written with.**

**This takes place two years before "Life, the Negaverse and Everything" and, well, just to be honest I don't like Negosalyn much so my char is kinda replacing her in my series (innocent smile). Celeste is copyrighted by me for the last several years and I'm strangely more attached to her than ever. The story of Negaduck's youth and the characters of his father and mother, Jake and Abigail Mallard, are copyright by Bloodyban , are used with her permission and as a tribute to her, and if you want the full story please go read her fics, they're far better than my stuff. Negaduck, the Negaverse, etc. belongs to Disney. I honestly can't remember who came up with the concept of Destructoduck but it was another fan and I'm greatly appreciative the concept stuck with me. I needed a good "bad villain" to counter my "good villains". **

**I had to do some rough calculations based off the time my friends and I believe Darkwing Duck was set in, ages of the characters, etc. So bare with me because here's a rough estimate and I could have gotten it wrong. ****Jake Elias Mallard Born 1937. Drake Mallard, AKA Negaduck, born 1954. Celeste Oksana Mallard, born October 13****th****, 1978. The year Negaduck discovers the portal to the Normalverse is ****1977, Jake is 40= Negs is 23= One year before Celeste was born. The year Celeste is adopted by Negaduck is 1986, Jake is 49, =Negs is 32,=Celeste is 8. ****In the year most of my stories take place, ****1992, the center of the Darkwing timeline-Jake is 55=Negs is 38 =Celeste is 14. Okay so hopefully that's not TOO confusing a timeline. On with the story!**

The year was 1980. It was a cold, rainy November night. The full moon pierced the dense clouds on rare occasions as it hung pale and bloated like a corpse in the gallows, glinting off the streets littered with broken glass and spent ammunition cartridges. Such was an average St. Canard night in the Negaverse. Lord Negaduck, high ruler of the city and much of the world beyond, was at the height of his power and feared by even the most prominent and wealthy citizens. No one could have surmised his humble beginnings, at least no one living, but one mallard, and he had long since left this dimension over a decade ago. Since then both SHUSH and FOWL had fallen into near ruins, their grasp on the city withering with that of any form of law enforcement.

Thus, even if anyone had seen the sleek black Jaguar rolling cautiously down the darkened alley and come to a halt in the flickering glow of one the many faulty streetlights, their first thought would have been to steal the car or the jewelry off the attractive woman who gracefully slide from the passenger side of the vehicle with a wrapped bundle in her arms which she placed in a cardboard box in the gutter. Darcy Teal-wing's pristine feathers and long cheshnut hair gleamed as she pulled the fur-lined hood of her long coat closer to her face, more concerned with being recognized than the cold or the fate of the burden she and her husband had just discarded.

Without a second glance she slipped back into the car, nodding to the tall, handsome mallard behind the wheel. Never once did she stop to consider that she was a bad mother, for in truth, she didn't consider herself a mother at all. Not really. It had all been a silly mistake that had cost her two years of her life to get her figure back, and really, she had_ tried_, hadn't she? _Yes_, most certainly they had both tried to feel something for the child other than resentment at her expense, her crying, her attention grubbing, the vacations and parties and business trips she'd cost them. Surely that was the most anyone could ask of them. They had_ tried_. It just hadn't worked out. Having a child didn't fit with their lifestyle.

Still, she was eager to be on her way, to drown out any recollection altogether of this dreary night and its mission in glass of rich Merlot. Wrinkling her petite beak so the deep blue patches around her lovely green eyes narrowed, she whispered urgently, "Let's go before anyone sees us in this squalor."

"You worry too much, my darling. It's over now." Laszlo Teal-wing patted her hand, amused, as though they were taking a Sunday drive in the country. Like his wife, he had no qualms about their actions. An heir meant nothing to him either way, and if it distressed his beloved Darcy, all the better to be rid of it. "No one will ever know. No ridiculous adoption paperwork to sign off, no lawyers to squabble with over redundant details, no press. We'll go home, have a soothing glass of wine, and it will be like it never happened."

The bundle of blankets stirred ever so slightly as the car pulled away, at first trying to curl up tighter against the on sought of the downpour then slowly a sitting up. A female duckling, petite even for the tender age of two, peered up at the night sky, confused. Was she dreaming? "Mommy?" She grasp the soaked edge of the box as water started to gather in the bottom and it gave way, spilling her into the gutter. She gasped and cried out in fear as a current of water washed her down the street and swept her blanket away before she managed to drag herself up onto the curb, shivering violently, her small beak already taking on a slightly bluish tinge. The wind howled through the narrow streets and swept the cold into her tiny bones as she hugged herself instinctively to preserve what little warmth she could. "Mommy?" she whispered again, trembling, hopeful. But no one answered.

1986-Six years later.

Celeste Oksana Teal-wing was outnumbered. Actually she was not only outnumbered, but also out-sized and outmatched in strength and age as she glared defiantly up at the older boys who insisted on picking on her. Well she wasn't going to take it, not this time. These punks had it coming and she was going to give it to them. As long as she could remember, she had been fighting to keep her toehold on her insignificant place in the world, from the very day she'd been born a sickly, premature infant, to two years later when a kindly roster had scooped her out of the gutter and taken her to the hospital, half frozen to death, and it continued to this very day, six years after that.

Her fierce hazel eyes narrowed as she stepped forward and rolled her fingers into fists.

Negaduck cruised the streets of his personal own playground, the Negaverse, looking for an opportunity to cause mayhem of some kind. After a few days in the Normalverse, matching wits (HA! That was joke!) with his alter ego, he relished the thick smog of his home world, the crunch of brown dried grass, the thick litter carpeting the highway. He paused as the Troublemaker started to pass the old orphanage, consequently where he'd spent the majority of his childhood years.

As a nine year old child, he'd come to this place with a darkness staining his soul, having witnessed what no child ever should have. The orphanage had done nothing to ease the shadowy hitchhiker of bitterness in him, in fact, it had strengthened it to overwhelming hatred. Eyeing the run-down weed overgrown building, he thought off all the times he'd considered blowing up the place. The kids that lived in it would be better off running wild on the street, as far as he was concerned, without the daily beatings and being forced to eat crude he wouldn't feed his attack Dobermans. Well no time like the present, right? Smiling maliciously, he reached into the infinite folds of his black cape and drew out a polished bomb just begging to be used but before he could hurl it over the seven foot barb wire fence, a shout caught his attention

A young female duck with cinnamon colored plumage and unruly brown locks of hair falling in her face stood pinned against a craggy wall by two older boys who appeared to be tormenting her. The girl glared back at the bullies, rolling up the ragged sleeves of her shirt and Negaduck smirked with amusement as he heard her snap, "Okay, who wants some?"

"Bring it on, Brownie," sneered the taller of the two boys as he pulled a lock of her hair. His eyes widened in shock a split second later when the girl drove her sneakered foot into his shin, making him slump to his knees and whimper in pain. Another kick to the chin sent him sprawling. The second boy tried to grab her and she bit him. Hard. He screamed, flailed and backpedaled wildly as the girl whirled on him, her eyes flashing.

"Don't ever call me that! What are you looking at, you knob? You wanna be next?" she spat at the one of the gathered crowd of rag-tag orphans who had been drawn by the noise and gotten a little too close. The kid shook his head rapidly and she crossed her arms in satisfaction as both of her tormentors scrambled up and took running to safety inside the orphanage. "Morons!" she called after them, straightening her ragged clothes as the remainder of spectators gave her a wide berth of space.

Negaduck stifled a low chuckle. This kid had some definite potential. His head jerked up at the gruff voice of Ms. Blackclaw, the head of the orphanage, as she stormed out with the two smug looking bullies in tow. ~That old fossil is still alive?~ Negaduck thought disdainfully, watching the girl with a hint of pity as she stood in the shadow of the matriarch. The rotund badger's once sleek black fur was now grayer but her hair remained pulled into the same severe bun as she rested her hands on her waist judiciously and glared down at the small miscreant, her trusty yardstick in hand as always.

"Celeste Teal-wing, I should have known. You've been a thorn in my side since your parents abandoned you as a baby." The child flinched, her temper and spirit wilting under the robust badger's stern gaze, wincing just a bit every time she slapped the yardstick against her palm. "There will be NO supper for you, young lady, and your penance for this disruption will scrubbing greasy pans and sweeping the kitchen floor, now off with you!"

"But ma'am, I.." stammered Celeste timidly, only to yelp in protest and fall silent as the badger grabbed her firmly by the arm, sinking old, dull claws into the tender flesh a bit as she dug her inside without another word. The girl's worn in sneakers left skid marks in the almost grassless yard as she stared longingly back at the fence and what lay beyond.

For a second, it seemed, her eyes actually found Negaduck's and locked with his. But that might have just been his imagination, as was the tiny flicker of pity in his cold heart, he assured himself the second the child and her keeper were gone from sight. Scowling, Negaduck revved his motorcycle to life and pulled away from the fence, roaring down the street. But he couldn't seem to drive the image of the free-spirited girl out of his head. She reminded him of someone. Himself.

Celeste sat with her knees drawn up to her chest on her worn bed in the third story room of the orphanage. Her hands were raw and throbbed from scrubbing grime off dishes, not to mention the floor, which the other children had tracked fresh mud over again within minutes of her finishing it. Some gave her looks of regret, most ignored her. She didn't really have any friends. The few kids she'd formed attachments to were usually the ones that ended up adopted. She'd been through a few interviews but they'd always found some reason to look elsewhere, and the interest in her had waned as the city grew worse and she got older. She hadn't warranted so much as a glance in over a year. Sometimes she blamed the color of her plumage. Ordinary, white ducklings seemed to be better favored as opposed to the odd wild mallard.

"You're never going to get adopted, you know that, don't you, Celeste?" Mrs. Blackclaw would say in an exasperated tone time and time again, as if she were not being cruel but meerly imparting a hard fact of like on the uneducated child. It rang truer with each year that passed. Negaverse residents lived hard lives and few had time for their own kin, much less some straggly little waif plucked from the gutter.

Her reverie was interrupted by her stomach growled hungrily as she watched the sun sink into the horizon on the other side of the cracked window pane. She sighed and watched a bird that had been perching on a nearby power-line take flight and soar away, wondering how it would feel to be that free. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been punished for the smallest thing or allowed to actually eat her fill.

Suddenly her hazel eyes gleamed with anewed light. Why shouldn't she be free to go and come as she pleased? She'd run away! Anything had to be better than this, even living on the streets. There were hundreds of criminals out there, more every day, so it couldn't be that hard. She could steal to eat, to live, then someday she'd be rich and she wouldn't have to steal anymore.

She bounced off the bed and tried to pry the window open. It was nailed shut. She strained in effort with no result and dropped to her knees, looking for something to use as a pry bar. Toys were mostly broken dolls and rat chewed stuffed animals here and they were few and far between any so those were no help. She eyed a rusted bed frame and grasp it, attempting to break off part of the railing. It whined and snapped off. She cringed and paused, waiting to see if someone had heard. Minutes passed and no one came to investigate. They were all at dinner still.

Blowing out a breath, she wedged the bar in-between the window and the seal and put all her weight on it, hoping it wouldn't snap again. Luckily, the nails were rusty too and they gave out, dangling from the seal as it lifted like the crooked, cruel teeth of a campfire story monster. That gave her some pause, actually crawling through the monster's mouth, but she shook the thought off and crawled up on the window seal on her knees, stretching out to grab the gnarled branch of a dying tree planted near the side of the building.

It was just out of reach and the window groaned and snowed flakes of rust above her. Her vivid imagination could picture only too clearly the window giving way and driving its monster teeth nails down into her back. Did a person die from tetanus? She shuddered and strained with no result till her arm felt like it would pop out of its socket. One glance down was enough to make her gulp but her determination didn't waver and she drew her legs up under her in a crouch. Two stories suddenly seemed much taller…suppose she fell? Would they even take her to the hospital? Or just leave her laying there in a mass of broken bones…STOP IT! She squeezed her hazel eyes shut, envisioning the branch, and jumped. Flying wasn't as exhilarating as she'd thought. It was weightless, powerless, felt too much like falling…and when she hit the branch it knocked the air clean out of here even as she clung to it for dear life. After a moment the shaking left her limbs as she realized she had made it and she climbed down.

The fence was a far more challenging obstacle. There was no way over without being skewed or between the wires without getting ripped apart. Just when things began looking hopeless she spotted a place where the ground looped down a bit from the bottom of the fence. It wasn't quite big enough to squeeze through but maybe if she made it a bit larger. She knelt and began digging with her hands until she'd deepened it by a third, then froze as she heard the sound of a door opening.

Energized with panic and fear of being caught she shoved her way under the fence and clawed halfway to the other side, only to gasp in pain as the barbed underside of the fence dug into her back. This must be what an animal felt like in a trap. They would find her here, pinned half way under, drag her back and lock her in a closet. She hated that closet, the one that was meant for coats but had nothing in it, just tick marks scratched into the wood representing days spent inside.

Her breath fogged out in front of her and she tensed as she heard footsteps approaching, struggling with the desperation of a rabbit in the jaws of a fox to pull free, ignoring the sharp spikes leaving gashes in her flesh, shredding the back of her clothes to ribbons, then suddenly there was a ripping noise as a chunk of her shirt tore loose and she tumbled free, scrambling to her feet. She started to run without think. To where she had no idea but and the exhilaration thus far delayed suddenly poured through her veins, lending her the strength to keep going. She was free!

The Negaverse St. Canard was alive with dark and menacing characters at night. Negaduck breathed in the noxious fumes of pollution and decay as he cruised the city. The Troublemaker purred like an unleashed tiger as he sped past various nightclubs and bars, looking for some action, neon pub signs and gambling advertisements reflecting off the well polished red, yellow and black vehicle. It was good to be the supreme leader, despite some of the more annoying city occupants such as…

"Negerooni! How's it shakin', bud?"

He rolled his eyes as he pulled the Troublemaker over to one side, resisting the urge to simply run over the duck in a black leather bomber's jacket with various tattoos approaching him. ~Speak of the Devil...~ he thought, but out loud he growled. "What d'you want, Crackshell?"

Fenton Crackshell, or rather his Negaverse counterpart, leaned on the fanged duck face of the Troublemaker, flicking his purely ornamental eye-patch up to get a better view of the other mallard, a foul smelling cigar poking out of one corner of his mouth as he grinned, "That ain't a very charitable attitude to take. Can't a guy say hi to his oldest buddy without wanting something?" Though roughly the same age, Crackshell was two bit hood with some fancy tech to back him up but no brains behind it. He would never aspire to the heights of the Negaverse's supreme lord and master, though he might try. In his deluded little node of a mind, maybe he even considered himself a cohort of Negaduck, a second-in-command of sorts. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

"What. Do. You. Want." Negaduck repeated through gritted teeth, his temper straining. Of all the Negaverse occupants, even the Friendly Four didn't annoy him half as much as Crackshell, alias Destructoduck. What a knob. If he hadn't had bigger fish to fry in the Normalverse, he would have exterminated this pest long ago, but compared to some, Destructoduck was a mere nuisance, a fly buzzing around his head while he was focusing on fumigating for poisonous spiders. Perhaps he had left him alive only for the sake of the fact that he was an easy target to take his anger out on when things didn't go as he'd planned. He was starting to regret his "charitable" attitude.

Fenton clicked his tongue admonishingly and to Negaduck's further outrage, he put his cigar out on the side of the motorcycle, breathing a smoke ring in Negaduck's general direction with the misguided ease of someone who believed themselves untouchable. "Easy there, Negsy. Don't wanna raise yer blood pressure none."

"Why you...!" This was more than he could take. Recent events in the Normalverse had him on a thin leash as it was. Now it snapped clean. The black masked mallard lunged at the other duck and struggled to get his hands around his neck, attempting to throttle him. Fenton gagged and tried to fend off his attacker as Negaduck shoved him face first into the concrete and started beating his head against the road. Neither of them noticed the little girl peeking around the corner at them curiously.

Her feet were killing her and Celeste knew she'd have to stop soon to rest. She'd made it into the urban city, a small girl trudging among huge skyscrapers without a clue as to what to do next, that is until her attention was captured by a struggle between two adult mallards. The shorter one in the gaudy cape and hat was trying to strangle the punkish looking one with a purplish dyed mohawk and studded jacket and boots. He bounced his head off the sidewalk like a basketball viciously.

She glanced around and noticed the fancy motorcycle that, apparently from its coloring, belonged to the one in the mask. Whoever he was he was obviously pretty well off, maybe even lived in a mansion like the vague memories of the one she had from long ago. A mansion with servants and soft pillows and food. If she tagged along with him she'd surely find something to eat and a decent place to take a nap out of the cold.

Without a second thought she scurried over next to the vehicle and managed to crawl into the sidecar. It was hard but warm and clean. She closed her eyes and instantly dozed off, feeling safe for the moment.

"Ruin my new paint job, will you?" Negaduck fumed as he stood on the fallen duck's back, purposely driving his heal into tender places. Every groan was a symphony to his ears. He could almost imagine this was how it would feel to pummel his arch-rival or even the man who had made him this way. But Crackshell was no substitute for that kind of satisfaction and the image shattered, leaving him even bitterer.

He scowled at the pathetic loser and jammed his heel into the back of his neck one last time before stomping back to the Troublemaker, turning it on and running over Fenton once more for good measure. "See ya, Crackhead!" he taunted driving at a reckless speed until he entered the suburban section of the city and pulled up into the garage of a modest but ill-cared for house that had once been yellow and now looked gray. The throbbing death metal music making his walls shake alerted him that the Muddlefoots, his next door neighbors, were having another of their ever popular barbacues. He listened for screamed, wondering what poor smuck had found himself tied to the grill tonight.

Dim-witted though they were, on occasion he invited himself over to enjoy the festivities because few Negaverse inhabitants could hold a candle to his own malicious black humor, and the Muddlefoots came closest. Well, them and Morgana Macawber. He shuddered and made a face, stickign his tongue out at that particular flicker of reminiscence and vowing never to become romantically entangled again, at least not with a witch for sure. A shrill cry of agony split the humid air, followed by Herb Muddlefoot's offish laughter.

"I'm surrounded by idiots," he grumbled as he slid off the seat and bent to check the burn on the smooth red bill of his cycle, rubbing at it with his jacket sleeve but getting no results and snarled. "Losers, morons, knobs, all of them! Next time I run into that reject for a mental institution Crackshell, I'll..." He trailed off, seizing a rusted crowbar from a nearby rack festooned with such crude weaponry and bent it in half, seething, and then tossed it away behind him.

The crowbar clanged off the edge and landed in the sidecar or the Troublemaker, inciting an indignant yelp that caused him to stop dead in his tracks. He whirled around and whipped out a bazooka miraculously from the depths of his seemingly infinate cape, stalking around to the sidecar, aiming the weapon, "Alright, whoever you are come out and get your tail feathers toasted and I might make it quick."

Celeste slowly peered over the edge of the sidecar and smiled nervously, waving, "Uh...hi..."

Negaduck's jaw dropped as the barrel of the weapon wavered and lowered ever so slightly. "You! Yer that kid from the orphanage! But what the pit are you doing here! In MY motorcycle!"

"I, um…ran away," she admitted sheepishly, climbing out to stand next to him. She barely reached his chest and had to crane her neck back to look up at him, her hazel eyes wide and innocent under a tuft of curly chestnut hair. She was far too cute, almost nausiatingly so.

"Yeah? Well you can just turn around and run right back," he spat coldly, whirling and storming into his house, slamming the door. He shook his head and muttered under his breath in disbelief. Kids these days, what did she expect him to just invite her in for milk and cookies? He leaned against the door, relaxing as the familiar smell of gunpowder and burnt barbecue wafting over from the Muddlefoots' side of the fence washed over him. Now he could retire to his den for some soothing target practice…

Someone knocked at the door and he turned sharply with growing annoyance, yanking it open, "WHAT? What do you want?" he demanded, only to stumble back as she ran past him into the living room and hoped on the couch, looking around in wonder. "Doh." he growled, slapping his forehead before following her. Maybe he could call Honker over and have him drag the little nuisance off as an entree to tonight's cook out.

"Wow, you have more stuff than a gun show!" she exclaimed, admiring walls upon walls decorated with gun racks before scooping up a stick of dynamite from an end table and turning it over in her hands with fascination.

Negaduck snatched the explosive away, putting it on a shelf as the girl moved on to admire a chainsaw, one of many models displayed in the room. "Look, I'm Negaduck, Lord of the Negaverse, Master of Menace, King of Crime, I don't make friends, I can stand kids, and I completely despise cute. Hey, hey, whatever your name is, are you listening to me?"

"Celeste," she replied, turning a bright smile to him and bounced off the couch. her dirty sneaker prints were utterly invisible in the already thick coat of dirt on the seat. "I'm eight years old, and I've been living in the orphanage since I was two. But that place is a drag, all they do is punish me or send me to my room. I've pretty much given up on being adopted, everyone thinks I'm a problem child, so I figured I'd just have to get myself out and here I am! So you're Lord Negaduck? That explains the fancy motorcycle, but I always figured you'd have a nicer house…" All this was said in such an exuberant rush his beak snapped shut as he paused to process it before shaking his head, more annoyed than ever at being momentarily distracted.

As he was about to respond, the door slammed open and a tall white-feathered duck with a red ponytail in army fatigues came in, dumping a bag of toys on the floor as he tracked mud into the house. The carpet had seen far worse in its day and barely showed the new footprints. "Found more of that dumb Quackerjack's …hey, who's the brownie?" he asked with disdain, bending down half his height to sneer at the girl.

Instantly the once meek and mannerly little duckling transformed into the firecracker Negaduck had seen back behind the barbed wire. Her eyes narrowed and clenched her teeth, "What did you call me?" Suddenly her small foot shot out and drove a well-placed, solid kick into the duck's kneecap, making him shriek in pain and hop up and down on one foot. Even Negaduck's eyes widened. He'd never seen anyone quite so small with so much spunk and courage in his life. Although he wouldn't admit it a small amount of approval for the kid had formed inside him.

Meanwhile the tall duck, having recovered, stalked toward the girl with the intent of beating a lesson into her clear on his face. He dug in his pocket and located a nasty looking switchblade, flicking it open with a practiced twist. "Why you little…"

The girl paled and dodged around behind Negaduck, her fingers tangling in his cape. He sighed loudly, in no mood to the circle point for a bloody game of "ring around the caped criminal". He glanced over his shoulder and stiffened at the sight of her pleading eyes staring up at him, resurrecting long buried memories of a similar situation. His throat suddenly felt dry and he swallowed twice before croaking out, "Leave her alone, Launchpad."

"Huh?" Launchpad looked up in surprise at Negaduck. He couldn't possibly be serious.

"I said leave her be," Negaduck repeated in a more steady, oddly claim voice, one that Launchpad knew meant he was not to be questioned under penalty of death. The black masked duck nodded in satisfaction as his minion stepped back then wagged a finger at Celeste until she stepped back around to face him, reluctantly releasing her hold on his cape. He stared down at her with calculating midnight blue eyes. "Your name is Celeste, right?" She nodded, gulping. "Well Celeste, you've proven yourself to be a bigger pain in the tail feathers than I would have thought. That's promising. You can stay for the night. But that's all,"

Celeste beamed and suddenly threw her arms around his waist, hugging him. He blinked and looked down at her, confused, but didn't shove her away. He wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Shaking off the nagging filling that he'd been outsmarted by a toddler, he dragged Launchpad into the kitchen for a debriefing, noting each and every sound that occurred in the living room behind him, mostly because he was unused to turning his back on anyone, especially and visitor to his home, but also because his "sidekick" was repeatedly looking over top of his head and glowering in a baneful way at the little girl before he dismissed him firmly and sent him off to his own filthy hanger shed.

Reentering the room he found that Celeste had made a cozy little nest for herself on the couch out of spare moth-eaten blankets he kept in the coat closet for the frequent nights in the Winter when the electricity went out. "Goodnight, Lord Negaduck!" She called after him sweetly enough to make him grind his teeth as he started up the rickety stairs.

He turned to eye her then a wicked grin split his bill,"Nighty Nightmare, don't let the bed bugs bite.." he sing-songed evilly as he backed up the stairs, dropping his voice to a stage whisper full of malice," Because there are literally thousands of them. And cockroaches just waiting for the lights to go out. Oh, and there's probably someone watching you from that window while you sleep.." he added with a manical laughter, more than a little satisfied to see her pull her legs up against her chest protectively as her widened eyes darted to said window. He flipped the switch off with relish, plunging the downstairs area into total darkness as he swaggered to his room. No, he hadn't lost his edge. Not at all.

Negaduck grumbled as he rolled out of bed the next day. It was well after noon but still too bright and cheery for his taste. The customary gray smog clouds had slit to give the sun a temporary reprive and it almost instantly gave him a headache. He pulled on a black and red bathrobe over his nightwear (which consisted of a pair of skull and cross-bone boxers) then tied on a black mask before stumbling down the stairs. The first thing he took into notice was that the couch, a worn, dirty maroon piece of furniture with springs and stuffing sticking out where Celeste had slept last night, was deserted and the lumpy pillow and thin blanket she'd used were neatly stacked and folded at one end. He could almost make out the outline of where she'd laid in the dirt. Shaking his head he entered the kitchen and stopped cold, seeing a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs and bacon already waiting for him. "What in the…"

"Oh you're awake!" Celeste beamed and jumped down from the sink where she'd been standing to wipe the grime off a window and grabbed his hand, ushering the stunned super villain to a chair where he sat numbly, looking at his breakfast. "Hope I got everything right. I figured you'd take yer coffee black."

He blinked, snapping out of his shock and looked at the jabbering little child, narrowing his eyes. As she turned to get him some toast, he grabbed her arm, holding her back and making her look up into his suspicious eyes, "What are you up? Are you trying to bribe me into letting you stay, cause let me tell you something, short stuff, it ain't gonna work. I can smell a scheming mind a thousand miles away..."

"Actually that's the toast you're smelling, it's burning," she replied without missing a beat and smiled as she felt his fingers go lax at her answer before going to fetch the toast and bringing it back to him on a saucer with a cube of butter, then hoping up in a chair across from him, her cheery expression never wavering as she swung her legs back and forth under the table, the tips of her shoes barely touching the floor. "And I was just trying to be nice. You let me stay here for a night so I thought I'd return the favor and help you out a bit, this house needs a feminine touch, you know. Oh, there's the laundry, be right back!"

Negaduck choked and had to stifle a snort of amusement as she leapt off her chair and ran down to the basement. He shrugged and took a swig of coffee. The kid wasn't so useless after all. He blinked as she tugged a laundry basket up the stairs that was almost bigger than her and stood on a stool to get the ironing board out of the kitchen closet that was so unused it still had the plastic on it covered with an inch thick of dust. Removing the covering, she filled the iron with hot water and set to work on one of his capes, humming as she contentedly worked every tiny crease out. "Uh, you don't have to do that, you know," he muttered, surprising himself.

"Oh I know!" She smiled at him in a way that made him feel an alien trickle of warmth inside before he squashed it out firmly like a cockroach. She finished the cape and hung it on the knobby handle to a cabinet. "But I want to, you've been really nice to me, especially since I didn't know who you were and all, Lord Negaduck."

"Yah, about that," he commented, sounding annoyed as he downed the rest of the coffee, "Exactly what are they teaching you in that place that you wouldn't know the Supreme Ruler of the Negaverse on sight? I may have to pay Old Lady Blackclaw a visit and make it a point to mention that..."

Celeste shrugged as she bent over to grab another jacket, "Teach? Oh she doesn't teach us anything but the three P's: Punishment, Pain and Penance." She straightened up and grimaced in agony as the gashes she'd received from the barbed wire the other day sent spikes up her back.

"That sounds like her," he agreed, his voice dripping disdain in remembrance of going through the exact same ordeal before he'd run away at age thirteen, then he frowned as he noticed her look of discomfort. "What?"

She blushed, brushing it off," Oh, it's just some scrapes I got from the fence."

He rolled his eyes and stood, nodding to the doorway leading into the second bathroom. "C'mon, let's take a look at those. They might get infected and I don't want to have to spend a fortune on hospital bills when I take you back."

Celeste gasped slightly in pain as he smeared a bit of antibiotic on the healing wounds before applying a few bandages and tucking the back of her shirt down. He frowned at the filthy garment, covered with holes. Not exactly something even he liked to see a kid in. "Hang on, I've got something for you." He disappeared into an extra room he used for storage and came back with a gray tee shirt a few sizes larger than hers baring the red image of a chalked body outline, "Here, put this on, it was mine when I was a kid. I don't want you getting dirt all over my couch," He added, trying to sound gruff even though it was a ridiculous notion since the entire house was plagued with dirt and dust.

She squirmed around on the stool and took the garment, then ducked into the spare room and came out a minute later switched into the shirt which was a bit long and baggy on her but to her was akin to silk. She grinned up at him as she tucked it over her faded jeans and turned in a circle for him to check.

He nodded in approval, and then cleared his throat, "Well I have crimes to commit and such so…" He trailed off. So, what was he going to do with the kid? He looked at the clock. His little stint as Florence Nightingale had cost him time, and he had things to do on the other side of the portal. The orphanage was on the opposite side of town, well out of his way. "DON'T touch anything, got it? Especially anything with a blade or bullets and, uh, make sure you have dinner waiting when I get back, got it?"

She blinked as he walked off to get dressed, perplexed."I thought you were taking me back to the orphanage today?"

He paused halfway up the creaking staircase, thinking rapidly, and then turned to face her, hardening his look into a long suffering scowl. "You can stay ONE more night but I better not hear any complaints when I take you back tomorrow or you'll find out why everyone is more scared of me than the grim reaper, understand?"

Celeste smiled broadly and nodded, "Got it."

Throughout the day she found various ways to busy herself. If there was one thing she was adept at, it was cleaning. Naturally there were no conventional supplies to be found such as dusting spray or even a mop but she made due with rags she found in a discard pile in the basement, mostly old civilian style clothes which he never wore anymore. The thick layer of dust made her choke and her eyes water and she had to run the water in the sink for ten minutes before it came out clean rather than rust colored. Then she was down on her knees scrubbing away at the kitchen floor. It took three shirts to get it near something resembling clean.

Launchpad thankfully didn't make a second appearance throughout the day, though she did have a run in with a yellowish rude gosling from next door whom she sent packing back to apparently loud and ill-mannerly family.

After finishing what laundry she could find she went in search of more. The stairs creaked as if in warning when she climbed them and she hesitated halfway up then steeled herself and pushed on, gathering up an armful of items from the master bathroom before venturing into the adjoining bedroom.

It was very dark, curtains pulled closed to create an eternal artificial night, and no personalization at all. Everything was a matching, foreboding black from the bed sheets and comforter down to the plush rugs on the floor and the lamp shade. It reminded her of entering a cave. She resolved to strip the bedding down quickly and make as little disturbance to the room as possible. She couldn't recall ever having her own room, but if she had she was sure she wouldn't want some stranger poking around in it.

She would have done just that if a glimmering hadn't caught her eye. The tiniest ray of light had crept in through a parting in the curtains and reflected off something dangling from the bedside lamp. She took a cautious step closer, then one more. A shimmering golden cross necklace with a single clear blue gem set in the middle hung with almost a reverence from the shade of the dusty lamp. It bore no gaudy inscriptions or designs, elegant alone in its simplicity, untarnished and well cared for, the sort of adornment only a true lady could wear, Celeste knew, though she'd never beheld anything like it before.

Below the necklace the corner of something white protruded from the nightstand drawer. She bit her lip, fighting an inner war with herself, then carefully slid the drawer open and removed the photograph. It was very old, but like the necklace, cherished, well cared for. In the photo, a beautiful white duck with long, curly blonde hair that fell around her shoulders and velvety dark blue eyes peered back at her, making her momentarily catch her breath. She had never believed in angels, but if angels were as beautiful as everyone said, surly this was one captured in print. She felt a strange warmth and sense of safety fill her, just looking at the lovely woman.

Perched on the angel's lap was a young white feathered mallard just her age with eyes just the same, deep blue gems as the woman's. She knew those eyes, had seen them recently glaring at her from behind a black mask. So Lord Negaduck had once had a mother. She wondered what had happened to her.

There was a hand on his shoulder and the hint of an arm wrapped around the woman but whoever they belonged to was lost as the upper left corner of the picture had been savagely ripped off. She carefully replaced the picture, propping it up by the lamp on the bedside stand then gathered up the bundle of laundry and hurried out, feeling liked she'd become privy to something she had no right to know.

When the laundry was churning away in the unbalanced washer she located a bucket and a worn out brush, trudging up the stairs to the living room. The fireplace had such a buildup of ash it took her five trips carrying the cinders out in the bucket to get down to the bricks underneath. She wiped at her forehead, leaving a streak of soot across it, and then paused as she swept the last of the ashes into the bucket.

A curled piece of paper stood out amid the black mess and she fished it out. It was the well singed and darkened corner of an old photo. She didn't have to race back up the stairs and compare it to know she'd found the missing portion of the family portrait, or to know who the strongly built mallard with the stern expression and heavy brows was. He pierced her from years in the past with green eyes like sea ice, his bill curved into a permanent scowl.

Despite the obvious knowledge that Negaduck in no way wanted this fragment of his past, in fact, loathed it so much that he wanted to burn it out of his life, she found herself unable to simply throw the scrap away and instead folded it and tucked it in her back pocket. With the same tufted cheeks and distinctive bill, he looked eerily like Negaduck. She had no memories of her own family, just the vaguest ghosts of them, and the idea of throwing one's family away bothered her deeply in a way she couldn't explain.

She put it out of her mind and went back to work. The house was barely recognizable by the time late afternoon rolled around and she started in one dinner. Nothing too special, macaroni and cheese with sandwiches was one of the few things she knew how to make without setting off a fire. It stuck to the pan but otherwise came out well, and she managed to pick apart the veggies and find pieces that weren't rotted enough to make a decent four sandwiches.

After putting the laundry away there was little to do but sit and wait. And wait. And watch the macaroni grown cold as her stomach rumbled. It didn't feel right to eat without him. She rested her folded arms on the table and let her face fall forward onto them. It was Midnight before she lifted her head again, presuming the clock's battery hadn't died and not been replaced.

Celeste arched her stiff back and stood up. Something fell in the garage with a resounding THUD. She blinked and dropped down behind a chair, looking for something to use as a weapon. Of all the luck! Someone was breaking into the most feared duck's house in the world when he wasn't home and she was!

She reached up and located a freshly cleaned butcher knife and crept towards the door to the garage, keeping the makeshift weapon handy. Her hand closed around the knob and she took a deep breath, one, two, then jerked the door open. The troublemaker was in the garage, still clicking as the engine cooled. Crimson streaks of blood marred the paintjob and she dropped the knife, her eyes widening. She hurried around the vehicle and found Negaduck laying where he'd fallen, his cape shredded with bullet holes, his yellow double breasted jacket strained as red as the sweater underneath.

"Oh God…oh…" she dropped to her knees, taking his head in her hands, "Lord Negaduck?"He coughed and squinted at her, as if momentarily having forgotten who she was and why she was here. "I...I'll call an ambulance…"

"No!" he grabbed her slender wrist as she started to get to her feet pulling her back, "No ambulances, no doctors, no one else,' he gritted out and it clicked in her head. No one else but a rare few actually knew where he lived and he didn't trust even them, not in his weakened state. If they were all like Launchpad, they wouldn't hesitate to finish him off in attempt to take his place of power.

"But I don't know what to do!" she squeaked out, looking around frantically, then grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him toward the door to the house set by step, leaving a bloody trail the whole way., her eyes narrowed in determination. When his back hit the step up into the kitchen Negaduck blacked out from pain.

He came to half an hour later on the kitchen floor laying on his stomach while the kid used some hefty tweezers from the first aid kit he'd used earlier to pull bullets out of his back, dropping them one by one into a bowl with a soft ping before proceeding to dig out another one.

"Ouch! Take it easy!" he yelped loudly and she jumped.

"I'm EIGHT, I'm doing my best!" she protested as she covered the fresh wounds with disinfectant and taped gauze over them. He grumbled in response but didn't try to move again till she announced she was done. He rolled over and sat up, squinting at the skinny girl whose hands and clothing were now stained with blood, but she seemed steady if a bit shaken. He knew adults, several adults, who wouldn't have handled something this jarring so well. The kid had steel in her under all that fluff.

It almost made him regret taking her back. A child who had been abandoned by those meant to care for her, the people she should have been able to trust, and yet she still had compassion in her for someone she'd only just met, a known felon, and a tyrant. They'd beat it out of her soon enough, leave her just the way they had him, full of bitterness and anger and suspicion. If only… NO. He slammed the door on that thought. His lifestyle was unsuitable for a child, no matter how remarkable, how accepting, that child might be. She would be in constant danger, always under foot. And the core reason being of course, he knew what being a father brought about. It was in his blood.

Resolved, he used a chair to get to his feet, ignoring her attempts to help him. "This place is a mess…" he remarked, eyeing the blood smears on the floor.

She frowned and put her hands on her hips, "Well that's not my fault! What did you do, rob a bank?"

He snickered at that, "No, I broke into a secret agency to cut someone's throat…" he leered at her as her eyes widened, "Does that startle you? Are you starting to miss the nice safe orphanage with its routine and your warm little where you curl up with teddy bear at 10 o'clock on the dot and no worries of anyone staggering in riddled with bullets?"

Celeste blinked, unphased, "No. I don't want to go back. I want to stay here with you. It seems like you need me here to patch you up when you do dumb stuff like getting shot."

He rolled his eyes, mimicking her moodily, "I don't need anyone, kid, I'm Negaduck. I work alone, I live alone, and I like it fine just that way."

"You don't seem like you like it very much," she replied softly, looking around, "You're too busy to take care of yourself so everything gets dirty…"

He stuck his bill in her face, poking her in the chest, driving her back against the counter, "I like dirt, I like darkness, I like chaos and disorder and mayhem, and I like coming home to peace and quiet, not some nagging little runt clamoring for attention, so tomorrow, you're going back to the orphanage where you belong and everything around here will go back to normal. We can both get on with our lives, and that's final…"

BOOM! The west wall of the kitchen exploded, raining debris down on them as Negaduck instinctively wrapped his cape around Celeste to shield her from the brunt of it. In the massive hole in the wall towered a dark figure bristling in black spiked armor and weapons of destruction. A dark purple visor covered the majority of his face but Celeste recognized the nasal voice of the punkish duck from the day before.

"The doorbell was broken so I thought I'd just let myself in…" Destructoduck taunted, grinning as he looked around, "Nice digs, Negsy. I think I saw it on the cover of "Better Condemned Eyesores and Roach Motels."

"Just what I don't need, the comic relief. Get lost, Crackshell," Negaduck growled, his voice dripping disdain, still shielding the girl behind him.

"We have a score to settle, Negadork," the armored mallard grinned maliciously, brandishing what looked like a cannon on one arm aimed at them. "And what's this? You have a pet!"

Celeste stuck her beak out fearlessly, her eyes narrowed, "Get lost, ya knob! Or we'll make quick work of you."

He burst out laughing in a very unpleasant way, "How sweet! But don't worry, pip-squeak, it won't be hasty at all. After all you're apparently my arch enemy's little bundle of sickening pride and joy. I plan to make your demise loooong and excruciatingly PAINFUL!" He fired a rocket at them and Negaduck threw himself to the ground on top of Celeste, shielding her with his body. Amid a shower of wall fragments he reached for a weapon, any of the numerous ones in the house and located a rifle hanging low on one wall, practically pulling the rack down with it as he jerked it free and opened fire on his enemy.

Destructoduck skidded back a foot with each round, dented but still dangerous as he returned fire with a flamethrower built into his chest armor, setting the couch and much of the living room ablaze as Negaduck rolled for cover behind and arm chair, unable to use any of his trade mark explosives as they might bring the rest of the house down on their heads.

Celeste peered up at him with wide eyes and he gritted his teeth before lunging for a chainsaw on the coffee table, revving the machine to life as she threw himself at the other mallard, the rotating teeth of the power tool throwing off sparks as they sank into black armor. Destructoduck staggered back, momentarily caught off guard, and then drove a fist into the masked mallard's wounded side, making him double over in pain.

That might have been the end of the fight, the end of the Lord of the Negaverse then and there, in the weakened state he was, compromised by his injuries, when a gauntlet closed around his thin neck. And his only regret was that he had never avenged the one person that truly cared for him…

Except Destructoduck wasn't expecting a surprise attack from behind. Celeste threw herself on his back, battering him with a crowbar in the face where his only vulnerable areas were. Once, twice, three times she struck him across the bill till he tasted his own blood then she sank her teeth into the side of his scrawny tattooed neck. His visor shattered into sharp indigo shards that littered the thread bare carpet, someone of them driven into the top of his beak. Yowling in pain, snarling in rage, he grabbed her, jerking her free though she took a good chunk of feathers with her that scattered in the air. He lifted her easily to eye level the savagely flung her away. Celeste's head struck the wall and she slid down to the scorched floor in a heap like a broken marionette with its strings cut.

Roaring like a wounded bear, Negaduck was on his feet, his midnight eyes black with fury as he struck again and again with the chainsaw, carving away chunks of black metal, an unstoppable force, driving his opponent back into the street. One solid slash took out the heavy duty tire and left the villain helpless on his back as it deflated.

"NO! Please, Lord Negaduck, don't…don't …"As he blubbered for mercy, Negaduck paused, letting the chainsaw idle and grind to a halt. Fenton breathed a shaky sigh of relief, "Oh thank you, your Supreme Darkness, thank you, thank…" Then masked mallard coldly withdrew a pack of dynamite, breaking the sticks apart from the bundle and lighting them one by one before he shoved them in cracks in the now ruined armor super suit.

Destructoduck gulped, now sparking like a child's birthday cake as he looked down at the numerous explosives, "Mama..." The first three blew him sky high, arching through the darkness like a shooting star before he erupted in a Fourth of July display far above the city.

Negaduck grunted his satisfaction, watching as the burning mass plummeted down towards the polluted bay and vanished with a sizable splash. He hoped the sharks were good and hungry as he turned and limped back into the house as quickly as he could.

Celeste remained where he'd left her, motionless, blood seeping from a location hidden by her hair. He dropped to his knees and drew her into his arms as her eyes flickered open and she gazed up at his silhouette back-lighted by the dying fires. "Daddy?" She whimpered.

He found even with all the bitterness in his shrunken heart, he couldn't find himself to deny her any comfort by correcting her. Vivid memories flashed before his eyes of another small child flinging himself on the back of an attacker, someone he had once loved, once idolized, in a vain attempt to save the most precious person on earth to him. That child had wound up bloodied and beaten as well, barely clinging to life, and he felt a lump rise in his throat as acid burned the back of his eyes. "Yeah, sure, kiddo, I'm here. Don't try to talk, just rest, yer safe now. Yer safe."

She smiled weakly, her hazel eyes half-lidded as the trail of blood crept down into one of them, "Did I do good?"

He snorted, forcing a confident grin, "Are you kidding? That metal-plated moron had no clue what hit him. You did real good, Cel. If I ever needed anyone to watch my back, it'd be you."

Her smile widened then softened as she went slack in his arms. No. This couldn't happen again. Not again. He couldn't bear to see another innocent die in his defense, someone who had no reason to love him but was willing to give up their life for him. Not again. Ignoring the red hot jolts of pain it sent down his sides, he hefted the small child, cradling her in his arms, and rushed to the Troublemaker.

There was a medic, an unofficial doctor who catered to the low-lifes and criminal elements of the city for an exorbitant fee, no questions asked. He had rarely required her services before, but now he did as he could see the color fading from Celeste's face and the life with it. He would run every red light, break every speed limit, and shill out every dime he could steal to save one life, just one. As he placed her gently in the sidecar of the troublemaker, he silently thought an unconscious prayer, the first he was aware or unaware of in 23 years, that he wasn't too late.

"Celeste!"

The young duck looked up as Negaduck entered, her eyes lighting up and she jumped off the stool she'd been standing on to wash dishes and hugged him. The bandage around her head had just come off yesterday and there was only the fainted sign of a scar visible. He frowned slightly at the soapy mess her hands made on his freshly pressed yellow suit but patted her on the shoulder, "C'mon kiddo, it's time."

Her smile faded and she hung her head but nodded and didn't object as she followed him back out to the garage, climbing into the Troublemaker. Negaduck glanced over at her solemn, heartbroken expression and hesitated before gunning the engines and driving toward the orphanage.

Negaduck marched into the dilapidated orphanage with Celeste in tow, glancing at her as he paused across the room from the matriarch's desk, wringing her hands as she stared studiously at the floor.

Celeste herself looked forlorn and small in the ancient room. Negaduck's promise of one night had turned into almost a month of her staying at his house during her recovery, during which, despite his objections that she was to rest, she'd insisted on sneaking in a few minor chores like ironing his cape or taking out the trash. It had been a strange time of adjustment for both of them but she could honestly say she'd never enjoyed any time in her life more. It was almost like actually having a real family, but all good things had to come to an end.

Grimacing as she lifted her head slightly to look at him with tearful eyes, the Lord of the Negaverse pulled at the collar of his red turtleneck then put on an expressionless face and stalked up to the desk, placing both his hands on it and leaning forward, his voice menacingly calm, "Hello, Mrs. Blackclaw."

"Lord Negaduck..." she stammered, her mouth falling open as she dropped the pile of papers she'd been looking over. A series of unfortunate, abandoned faces ranging from two to thirteen stares up at him, grime black and white photos paper clipped to each file like mug shots. "What brings you…?"

"I believe you know the young lady back there," he cut her off, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward Celeste, willing down the twinge of memory the files brought back to him. His file was still here somewhere, locked away in a dusty cabinet with those of the other damaged, implacable children.

"Oh, her, yes, a runaway," The old badger adjusted her glasses, pleased and relieved the matter was something she could rectify so easily. Though there was no way of her knowing that the Master of Menace himself had once been one of her charges, had in fact been skittish, abused, little Drake Mallard whom kept to himself and usually tucked himself away in the furthest corner of the room in a futile attempt to dodge beating, she was not so foolish as to believe that she held any favor with the darkly masked mallard who ruled the city. "Rest assured if she's bothered you she'll be punished."

"No, YOU'RE the one that's bothering me. This little runaway's been staying with me, and she's gonna stay with me since you obviously couldn't care for a houseplant, much less a kid. You got a problem with that?" he demanded in his lowest, most gravelly voice, shoving his beak in her face, his eyes flashing. The badger shook her head rapidly, leaning back in her chair so quickly she nearly up ended it. It might have been his imagination, but he though he saw a few more black hairs go white from fear and took some cruel amusement in the imagery. "Good." He straightened his coat and snapped his fingers, "My lawyers will see to drawing up and finalizing the paperwork."

As he spoke the two lawyers, aptly named Shyster and Loophole, stepped into the room and approached the desk, all business as they snapped open their briefcases and set upon the orphanage's proprietor like vultures on fresh road kill.

Satisfied, Negaduck whirled, the black cape flaring out dramatically behind him as he walked over to Celeste and put a hand on her shoulder, "C'mon, kiddo. Let's blow this joint."

She stared up at him, flabbergasted. Could it really be true? Could he want her, could anyone truly want her forever? She'd all but given up hope, but here was a man who needed her as deeply as she needed him. On the outside, they seemed as different as could be but on the inside they were both damaged, broken, half of a whole person needing one another to feel complete. Tears spilled from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him like the light in the darkness he'd become to her. This time he actually allowed himself to smile as he hugged her back, chuckling a bit at the way her bright eyes sparkled as she replied in a soft voice, full of meaning, "Sounds good. Let's go home...Dad."


End file.
